


No More Tears

by Captain_Ameriwoman



Series: Piece of my Heart [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Ameriwoman/pseuds/Captain_Ameriwoman
Summary: Geralt realizes that he needs to apologize to his bard for what happened on the mountain. Jaskier ends up reuniting with an old friend from Oxenfurt and traveling the continent with her. Geralt's plans to find his bard get upended by his Child Surprise, taking her to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Meanwhile, Jaskier stays in his friend's hometown over winter. As the spring starts to thaw the world, Geralt is able to resume his search once Yennefer takes Ciri.Geralt finds out where Jaskier has been, only to find out that he's gone missing and his friend doesn't like Geralt much.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Piece of my Heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722637
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before Have a Drink on Me, just fyi! It's sort of a prequel that got very long...

Geralt realizes somewhere around the second tavern he stops at, about a month after the mountain, that he’s made a mistake. He was greeted both times by shitty renditions of songs Jaskier wrote, the words so familiar that he should be able to tune them out like the rest of the mindless chatter of the local drunks. But the voice is wrong and so he can’t. He listens to  _ two  _ minstrels hit the wrong chords and sing sour notes, and he realizes that he had been an ass.

He’d known since he said everything, but he’s an expert at ignoring things that pain him. But it’s too hard to ignore when Jaskier is still haunting him. The songs he’d written about his ( _ their _ , Geralt’s mind corrects absently) adventures were all exaggerated to one degree or another, and there was more than one that he truly cannot tolerate listening to because of it. He’d said as much to the bard over a scraped together dinner one night.

He hadn’t heard them since.

Jaskier cared for him. That was evident in just about everything he did. He helped Geralt get cleaned up after a fight, not caring about the sheer amount of gore he carried back with him most of the time. He could read Geralt better than just about anyone else he knew — even his brothers had problems telling his moods sometimes. Jaskier got him figured out within the first two years of them travelling together, and hadn’t misinterpreted him since. He called him friend for twenty-two long years, only for Geralt to never reciprocate. 

Only for Geralt to snap at him in anger and send him away. For him to blame him for every problem he’d caused in the time they’ve known each other. It was bullshit, and like Jaskier had said at the time, unfair. 

Sure, the bard was loud, but he had learned to be quiet when he could tell Geralt needed it instead of him just yelling at him to shut up out of habit. He also had a tendency to get in more trouble than anyone else Geralt has ever known. Yet he was more than capable of handling himself when the need arose, and he trusted Geralt to get him out of whatever scrape he couldn’t be bothered with. His songs were often stupid, but Geralt  _ did  _ actually like his singing. And they had admittedly done wonders for his reputation. 

Fuck.

Geralt realizes he misses the bard. He misses his incessant chatter on their journey. He misses the false songs and the rowdy songs and the tacky love songs about whatever woman had caught his eye that week. He misses his gentle but lute-calloused hands combing through his hair in the bath, holding him still as he bandages cuts geralt normally wouldn’t have bothered tending to if he were alone. He misses his singing in a crowded bar, playing for their room and supper. He misses the way Jaskier managed to make his stomach flutter with just a look from across the tavern or a passing touch. He misses everything Jaskier had offered him, everything he had taken for granted. 

Worse than, even. He’d tried to get rid of it at every opportunity.

_ Fuck _ . 

Geralt groans. He’s going to have to track Jaskier down and apologize. 

———— 

Geralt’s word stung. They still sting, even a month later. Jaskier does his best not to think of them, but they have a nasty habit of circling around his mind when he least wants them. It hurts more than everything else he’s experienced so far.

He’d traveled for days, stumbling his way down a mountain and thinking occasionally if the world would be better off if he fell. He’d already left his mark, after all. The word would remember him, and Geralt wouldn’t have to deal with him. 

He got down, something he’s rather thankful for in hindsight. He’d made his way to the nearest town and had set to drowning his sorrows in shitty ale and open skirts. From there, he sings and dances for his meals and rooms, and continues on a tear across the continent until destiny opts to be kind to him for once. 

He bumps into an old friend from Oxenfurt. In a literal sense, too. He’s absolutely sloshed from his most recent performance at the local tavern, determined to drown out Geralt’s voice long enough to get to sleep tonight instead of staring at the ceiling like the heartbroken fool he really was, and is making his way back to the inn when someone steps into him from an alleyway. 

He’s initially worried he’s about to be mugged (it wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately), only to have the other person reach out to keep him from falling in an awkward drunken heap. “Sorry about that, sir!” she says, patting his arm. “Are you quite-  _ Jaskier _ ?”

He flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile. “Hello,” he says. “Long time no see, Rielle!”

She rolls her eyes, used to his teasing flirtations by now. He’d learned long ago that nothing would come of it — she’d threatened to cut his tongue out if he kept trying to get into her pants. After a long chat, they’d come to agreement that he could still flirt so long as he accepted that she would never take him up on anything. He had, and she’s been a dear friend of his ever since. 

He really should try to write to her more often… 

“Too long,” she says. “Want me to walk you?”

“Don’ need it,” he slurs. “But if y’wan to.”

“I think it would be for the best,” she says. She tucks his hand in her elbow, like a gentleman would tuck a maiden’s. He wouldn’t have minded even if he were sober, though, so he doesn’t say anything about it. Rielle asks where he’s staying, likely to make sure he isn’t visiting a friend or the like, and then practically carries him to the inn as their walk wares on. 

He wakes in the morning tucked into bed in nothing but his underclothes. The rest of his clothes he finds neatly folded in a pile on the lone table in the room. A small piece of paper rests on top, which he snatches up eagerly despite the pounding headache that makes his eyes ache. Hangovers had never liked him much, and he has to read over the note three times before he can actually process the words. 

_ Jaskier, _

_ I would have loved to stay until morning to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep, but I have an early rehearsal today. I can only hope you’re the one reading this and not the poor innkeep. I’ll be in town until tomorrow morning, so you should stop by and say a sober hello! I’m sure you can find us if you want to. _

_ Rielle _

He smiles once the message clicks. He’s always loved watching Rielle act, and he knows how much she likes travelling. They’re a lot alike in that way, he thinks. They compliment each other. They have much the same passions, but neither of them are too vain (with one another, anyway) to admit where one was better than the other. He had the better hand at singing and composing, while she prefered acting over that. Neither of them are bad, far from it in his oh-so-very-humble opinion, but they both have their strengths. 

He figures he’ll go look for her after breakfast. Hopefully by then he’ll be able to stand up without feeling like he’s going to hurl. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier ends up travelling around with Rielle’s current troupe. They’re circling back around to her hometown of Hartsdale, where they’ll give a few final performances and then everyone will go off to wherever they typically head for the winter. It’s not exactly typical, but then again few things he finds himself involved with are. He’s obviously much too late to get a role in the show, but he manages to make himself useful by keeping people entertained before the show begins. 

It’s a nice change of pace from performing in front of drunkards in taverns. He loves that, don’t get him wrong, but it’s lovely to be in front of a crowd who wants to be there and are sober enough to truly enjoy his talents. They cheer at the end of his tiny concert, and he announces the start of the show with a flourish before leaving the stage. Rielle typically is waiting in the wings for him, smiling and dragging him into a hug. He responds “Break a leg,” before the two part. Rielle heads out onto the stage, and he makes his way into the crowd to watch. He’d known this story by heart since they were in school, but every night holds something different.

Something  _ special _ . He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of this.

After the performance has ended, the cast and crew head out to the local pub for drinks and food. Jaskier doesn’t get hammered anymore. The pleasant company helps keep his mind off of the past. Soon enough, not even his sleep is haunted by Geralt. Usually. 

Jaskier couldn’t tell you the name of the little village they’re in. It’s barely a spec on a map, assuming it’s even present in the first place. They’re not performing, simply stopping for the night to rest. They don’t bother getting rooms at the inn as it’s much too small to hold everyone. Instead, they make camp and settle in for the night. 

Jaskier stares up at the starry sky, thoughts turning to Geralt regardless of what he does. In the silence of the night he can’t help but imagine that Geralt is the only person nearby. That they’re still travelling together and that he hadn’t been thrown away without a second thought. 

He suspects he’s been awake at least two hours later than everyone else when Rielle shows up in front of the sky. She’s frowning. “You ever gonna go to bed or are you going to keep fidgeting?” 

He gives her a sheepish smile and pushes himself to sit up. “Sorry,” he says as she settles across from him. “Just can’t sleep.”

“Obviously,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Wanna talk about it?”

They’ve been travelling together like this for the better part of four months. She very deliberately hasn’t mentioned Geralt, not asking why he wasn’t with the Witcher while the weather was still kind. He might not have written to her as often as he had wanted, but he’s told her enough throughout the years for her to understand that him not being with Geralt at the moment must mean  _ something _ had happened. 

And, fuck it all, he wants to tell someone. She’d be the first to tell him that bottling things up was unhealthy (she had in the past, actually, and it was usually after he’d gone back to Lettenhove during breaks in the school year). 

He drops his head to rest in one hand and looks off into the distance. He tells her about what happened on the mountain. How he had suggested they leave the looming disaster of the dragon hunt behind them and go to the coast together. It had been the closest he’d ever gotten to confessing his true feelings for his friend, and then Geralt had stomped his heart into the dirt by going off to Yennefer and continuing onwards with her. He spits out the words Geralt had flung at him at the end of it all before he’d gone coldly silent, leaving Jaskier to make his way down the mountain alone. Rielle sits there patiently, a hand on his knee in silent reassurance. 

“Jas,” she says after he’s stopped talking and is just sitting there trying to control his breathing and keep himself from crying. “If I may be so bold, he can go fuck himself.”

That gets a startled laugh out of him. “What?”

“You’ve done how much for him over the years? And then he goes and blames you for things that you by all means warned him against?” She shakes her head. “He can go fuck himself if he can’t see how amazing you are.”

“You don’t know-”

“And has that ever stopped me from making judgements about the people in your life before?” 

He winces. She has a point, though in the case of his family he agreed with her. “It’s different, I don’t…” He wipes a hand over his face as tears start to fall. “I’m used to them not liking me, for not caring. But with him, I thought that- I thought we-” He breaks off into a sob, and Rielle drags him into a hug. 

They stay like that for a while as Jaskier finally breaks down. He’d cried on his way down the mountain, but everything was still so fresh and he hadn’t processed any of it then. Now he has, and it’s been brewing for too long. When he can breathe again without too much trouble, he peels himself away from her. She hands him a handkerchief and he takes it thankfully. 

“I just thought that he’d finally gotten used to me. That he liked having me around. I thought I’d even caught him smiling at me sometimes.” He swallows heavily. “Maybe I was imagining it.”

She rubs her hand along his back. “I wouldn’t know, sadly. But in the end, it’s his loss more than your’s. You’re brilliant, Jas, and it’s a shame he couldn’t see that.”

“Thanks,” he says, sniffling a little. 

“I mean it. You know, Oxenfurt has always wanted you to go back and teach. You consider that?” He shrugs. He’d been too preoccupied with drinking to forget and then being surrounded by Rielle and her troupe. “You should. It could be good for you.”

“I’ll think about it,” he says. 

She smiles. “You have time before you have to make a choice, you know. We have to get all the way back across the continent, and Gods know my da will be happy to see you once we get there. I can’t imagine he’d kick you out.”

“Thank you,” he says, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “I think I could fall asleep now.”

“Happy to be of service,” she says, poking his side gently. “Now please get off of me, I can’t feel my legs.”

“You’re the one who dragged me,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. He awkwardly gets off of her lap and flops back onto his bedroll. “Goodnight, Rielle.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

———— 

Geralt’s search for Jaskier is upended by his Child Surprise. His guilt grows as time passes, but he knows Jaskier will understand that he had other things to contend with. Jaskier had said from the start that he should have been involved with Ciri’s life from the get-go, but he’d refused. 

He doubts Jaskier would blame him for taking care of his daughter.

It’s a tense few months. Nilfgaard is hounding them relentlessly, and every town they stop in makes his skin crawl. Even though they continue using the fake name Ciri had come up with on her own, he knows that it only takes one person to see through the ruse for everything to go to shit. 

The two of them stumble upon Yennefer towards the end of the fall. The sorceress takes an immediate liking to Ciri, enough for him to get his foot in the door enough to apologize to her as well. Jaskier isn’t the only one he hurt on that mountain.

Yenn begrudgingly accepts his apology, on the condition that they don’t try to rekindle anything. He agrees, thoughts straying to Jaskier at the idea. They hesitantly make their way to an agreement involving Ciri: Geralt will take her to Kaer Morhen for the winter, and afterwards Yenn will take her to practice her magic. Kaer Morhen will be safe from anyone who would do Ciri harm, and he trusts that Yenn can protect her for the rest of the year. If she can’t, she can find him easily enough. He regrets his last wish, but it’s got at least one benefit in this case. 

Yenn starts Ciri’s training, though it’s mostly her gauging what Ciri can do naturally. Her abilities are hard to control and are strongly tied to her emotions, something Yenn finds incredibly interesting. She says it’s not unusual, exactly, but the amount of power she unleashes without training is. They stay together in one of Yenn’s many homes until the first snowfall.

They part amicably this time, with the promise of seeing each other come the spring. She gifts Ciri a new winter cloak before they go, and the young girl hugs her tightly. It’s sweet, he thinks. He’s sure she would love Jaskier.

The thought makes his chest tighten. Whenever he’d let himself think of travelling with his Child Surprise, it had always been under the assumption that Jaskier would be with him. Jaskier would have taken to travelling with a child like a duck to water. The children in the towns they passed through loved him, hanging off of him and chattering over each other in excitement. He would make up silly songs for them and show them how to make flower crowns while Geralt went to check notice boards. 

Geralt wonders what he would write for Ciri, and immediately feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

As soon as winter is over, he’s finding his bard. He doesn’t care what he has to do, he’ll find Jaskier one way or another. Even if Jaskier doesn’t accept Geralt’s apology, he needs to let him know. 

Especially amongst the  _ other  _ feelings starting to make themselves known as Geralt spends more and more time away from him and with Ciri. 


	3. Chapter 3

The first snows hit earlier than usual, leaving the troupe trudging through snow on their way to Hartsdale. Jaskier shivers under his cloak. Rielle at one point in the evening throws a thicker one at him, telling him that he’s not allowed to freeze to death. He takes it with only minimal protest over her spending her money on him. 

“Well  _ you  _ weren’t going to get one, idiot,” is all she had said in reply. She’s not exactly wrong. He would have, it just wasn’t at the top of his list. Despite their late night chat, he still doesn’t want to dump everything he associated with Geralt at once. The Witcher had bought him that cloak after his old one had been torn to shreds by a werewolf that had chased Geralt back to their small camp. Jaskier had fortunately not been wearing it at the time and Geralt had begrudgingly paid for the replacement. 

He’s thankful she had pushed him to get proper boots before the weather changed, though. He probably would have lost a good few toes by now if he hadn’t. Possibly even a whole foot. A few of the other actors tease him about it, but he knows it's just because they’re worried about him. They’d taken a liking to him the moment Rielle had introduced him. A friend of hers was a friend of theirs, and all that. 

It was nice. He hadn’t been around this many other creative types for an extended period since Oxenfurt. It was fun to sit around a table in an inn or a campfire and just trade tales and work on songs together. To his delight, a few of them are also planning on spending the winter in Hartsdale. Two of them are siblings, Isaak and Illana, and then there’s Theo. The three of them along with Rielle have apparently worked together in the past. 

He’s excited to learn that they all know various instruments as well. It’s been an absolute age since he’s been able to play with a band. It makes dealing with the snow all the more tolerable, as he now had something to look forward to. Illana promises him a private concert as soon as they get to Hartsdale. 

Each town after that passes by in a blur. Jaskier pesters the three of them about their favorite type of music, which instruments they’ve got with them, and what sort of experience they have. Rielle watches him throughout his impromptu interrogations with an amused smile. She steps in occasionally to drag him away for food or bed, whoever he was talking to giggling as they go. 

The day they reach Hartsdale, the snow has melted and the sun is out. It’s like the fall is taking one last breath before dying off into the winter. Rielle is at the head of their troupe now, as she knows the areas the best. He can hear her chattering excitedly as she points things out to the others. Jaskier can’t make out specifics, but he suspects it’s similar to what she’d told him when he’d joined her over break for the first time. 

The buildings are all the same as they were then. Single or two-story homes made out of simple bricks, leading the way to the popular main street that would look exactly the same if not for the colorful awnings and banners outside of the stores. He spots Rielle’s favorite bakery and decides that he can catch up with them later. 

The baker, an elven man a few inches shorter than himself, greets him enthusiastically. He rambles on about all the different things they have today. Jaskier listens intently, tracking everything he wants to try. He asks a few questions — which pastries are going to still be made for a while versus today’s specials, what he would recommend for someone with a sweet tooth, and just to make sure he hasn’t forgotten, what Rielle’s favorite is. 

The elf brightens up even more at that. “Is she back then?” he asks, even as he taps the display case over the chocolate croissants. Jaskier smiles. He hadn’t forgotten after all, and she hadn’t changed her tastes. 

“I’ll take two of those, and a few of those little pies,” he says. “And yes, just today in fact.”

“Wonderful! We’ve missed her around here, you know? Terribly dull,” the baker says. He takes out the selected pastries and wraps them individually before putting them all together in a little brown bag that he sets on top of the case. Jaskier reaches for his coin purse, only to have the other man shake his head. “No need, young man. Just tell Rie I’m happy she’s home, and that I hope she had a lovely journey.”

Jaskier beams at the man as he takes the bag. “I will! Thank you kindly, and have a good rest of your day my good sir!”

The man waves at him as he leaves, the heavenly scent of fresh baked goods following him out. He makes his way to where the inn stands, the wooden sign swaying gently in the breeze.  _ The Silver Hearth _ is laid into the wood in silver lettering, aptly enough. He enters the building only to be immediately jumped on by Rielle. “Where did you  _ go _ ?” she asks. “I thought you’d managed to get mugged already!”

He laughs. Patting her arm, he says, “I just made a quick stop into the bakery.” He holds up the bag and her eyes widen. 

“Jas, you didn’t,” she says. Even still, she drags him towards the table that Isaak, Illana, and Theo are already sitting at. 

“I did,” he says, sitting down. He gives her the bag and speaks as she rips it open. “He didn’t make me pay though. Told me to tell you that he hopes you’ve had a  _ lovely journey _ , and that he’s happy you’re back.”

She somehow already has chocolate on her face by the time he’s done talking. He has to smother a laugh at the sight. “Ievis is such a sweetheart,” she says after she’s finished chewing. “I’ll have to stop in in the morning and say hello…”

“I’m sure he would like that,” Jaskier says. He drags the bag back over and takes out the pies. “I didn’t know what the rest of you liked so I got these.” He lists off the flavors, and the three take them with big smiles. 

“You didn’t have to get us anything,” Illana says. 

He shrugs. “I wanted to. To thank you guys for everything.”

Her brother raises a brow. “Yeah? Didn’t think we’d done anything all that special.”

“I was going through some shit,” Jaskier says. “Don’t want to get into it more than that, but still. It was good to be around friendly people.” Rielle knocks their shoulders together in understanding. 

“Happy to help then,” Isaak says. “And thanks for this.” Theo hums his agreement around a bite of pie.

The conversation turns to tomorrow’s final performance, and Jaskier settles into the good company easily. He leans against Rielle and he thanks whatever God that smiled upon him for this. 

————

Wintering at Kaer Morhen has always meant dealing with his family, and this year isn’t any different. Lambert is teasing Geralt from behind the gate before he even sees Ciri standing behind him. He steels himself for all the stupid comments he’ll have for her, silently promising that he’ll beat him into a pulp if he goes even an inch too far. 

The gate rises and he leads the way inside the keep. Lambert meets him in the first courtyard after closing the gate again. His eyes skip immediately over Geralt to rest on Ciri. His expression of surprise is almost comical, all wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “What the fuck,” he manages at last.

“I mentioned this,” Geralt says, pushing past him to get Roach to the stables. There’s two other horses there already. Means Eskel is here too. 

“Years ago! And you said you weren’t planning on ever actually picking the kid up!” Lambert yells, trailing after him. 

“I didn’t,” Geralt says, glaring at him as he starts getting Roach untacked. 

Ciri looks between them for a moment. “I found him,” she says. 

“You-  _ What _ ?” 

Geralt sighs. “We’ll talk about it later,” he says. “All together.” He doesn’t want to have to repeat the story if he can help it. 

“Fucking hell, Geralt,” he mutters. 

“Who are you?” Ciri asks before he has a chance to storm off. 

He blinks in surprise. “Lambert,” he says.

She nods. “I’m Ciri.”

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly. “Bye kid.” With that, Lambert beats a hasty retreat into the keep. 

“Is he always like that?” she asks, looking at Geralt.

“Can be worse.”

Ciri winces. “That’s too bad,” she says. 

He hands her her bag, deciding that picking Roach’s shoes can wait until the morning. There’s already hay and water ready in the stall he’d chosen, likely filled by Eskel when he’d gotten his mount sorted in anticipation of his arrival. He shoulders his own and takes her hand in his. He still can’t quite get over how much smaller her’s is, and he squeezes it to ground himself. Other than the surprise, Lambert hadn’t seemed disgusted like he’d worried. This will be fine.

After a lengthy discussion over the circumstances, of course. 

He takes her into the keep to see Lambert sulking next to Eskel on one end of one of the tables, with Vesemir at the head. They all look up at their approach and Ciri  _ shrieks _ . The table and benches skid a few inches, and the dishware on top go flying into the wall. The sound of shattered glass is loud in his ears even as he turns to where Ciri has pressed herself behind him. 

He kneels down in front of her, hands gentle on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asks, stomach churning at the tears slipping down her cheeks. 

She whimpers softly. “Monster,” she manages through her sudden sobs.

“There are no monsters here,” he says quietly, pulling her into a hug. 

“But his face!” she yells into his shoulder.

Geralt realizes with a start what she’s talking about. “He’s not a monster,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head. “He’s my brother. He won’t hurt you.”

She pulls away slightly to look him in the eye. “Really?” 

“I promise.”

She nods and rubs at her eyes. He looks over his shoulder at the table. His family looks stricken, but none more so than Eskel. He’s as white as a sheet, and one hand has come up to cover the mean scar that runs across the right side of his face. Geralt regrets not preparing her for the sight. He knows it’s gruesome to even hardened soldiers, and that his brother is acutely aware of it. 

“‘M sorry,” Ciri says, and he looks back at her to see her on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. 

Eskel doesn’t say anything, too shocked to. Instead, Lambert speaks. “It’s fine, kid,” he says slowly. Lambert might be an ass, but even he knows when not to push, and Eskel’s scars definitely fit into that category. “We know it’s not pretty to look at. But Geralt’s right, Eskel’s practically a teddy bear if you’re not vulnerable to silver.”

Ciri squirms out of Geralt’s grip and makes her way to the table. “Are you okay?” she asks as Geralt comes up behind her. She’s looking directly at Eskel now, frowning slightly. “Do they hurt?”

Eskel takes a shaky breath. “They don’t. Not anymore. Sorry for scaring you.”

“Sorry for screaming,” she says. “I’m Ciri.”

“Eskel,” he replies, though Geralt would bet it's a reflex considering he still looks somewhat out of it. She nods like she’s making sure to remember it. 

“Of course your Child Surprise would have a power like that,” Vesemir says, shoving the table back into place. “And I’m Vesemir,” he adds, glancing at Ciri. She gives a tiny wave in response.

They all go quiet after that, with the only sound being the crackling of the huge fire in the hearth and the scrape of wood on stone as the furniture is put back. “You going to tell us what happened?” Lambert asks, sitting back down. He drags Eskel down with him, the older Witcher glaring at him. Geralt sits across from them, putting an arm around Ciri as she tucks herself into his side. Once Vesemir takes his own seat, he starts talking. It’s stilted, as he’s not used to speaking this much, but he thinks he gets the point across well enough.

He certainly hits the main points, anyway. The fall of Cintra, Nilfgaard being after her, the agreement with Yenn, and his decision to bring her here. His family is hesitant to agree to her training, but eventually they start crumbling. Eskel is the first to agree. He eyes Ciri carefully and nods his consent. “She needs to be able to defend herself.”

Lambert groans next to him. “Fuck, really? We’re doing this?” It’s the closest he gets to fully agreeing, but considering it’s not a flat refusal, Geralt will take it.

Vesemir sighs. “Have you prepared her for it?” 

“We’re not doing the Trials,” Geralt says, curling his arm further around her protectively. He won’t put her through that. The thought makes him nauseous. 

“Of course not,” Vesemir says, and he looks at Geralt like he had after asking a stupid question when he was young. “Everything else.”

“We’ve discussed it.”

“I wanna be a Witcher!” Ciri interjects, sitting up slightly. “I can take it!”

Something softens in Vesemir’s eyes. “Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll get started. Should give you plenty of time to rest from the journey.”

Ciri claps her hands in excitement. Vesemir stands up, excusing himself to go prepare supper. Geralt listens to her badger his brothers with questions about Witchers and monsters. She seems nonplussed by Eskel now, the moment of fear past and the reassurances taking full hold. He’s thankful. She needs somewhere she can feel safe in, even if only for the season. That means feeling comfortable with the other inhabitants. 

Vesemir comes back around an hour later, yelling at Lambert to come help him bring things out. Lambert curses under his breath, something about how it should be Geralt’s job since he just got here, but he goes anyway. The food is good, if simple. Ciri wolfs it down almost as fast as the rest of them, Vesemir shaking his head. Geralt remembers vaguely of the man trying to teach them table manners, and them all promptly throwing that out the window as soon as they could get away with it. 

Ciri is falling asleep at the table after her second helping, so Geralt picks her up along with their bags. He debates putting her to bed in her own room for the night but decides against it. It’s her first night in an unfamiliar place. Best not to separate her from the one thing she’s used to, especially when she’s not awake to notice it. He’ll show her her room come the morning. For now, he settles her in his bed. He takes her shoes off, then undresses himself to just his small clothes and a loose shirt. He wraps himself around her, and she snuggles into his chest in her sleep. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

He falls asleep soothed by the atmosphere of the closest thing he has to a home, knowing that they’re  _ safe _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we see me realizing I have to write the scene where Ciri screams at the sight of Eskel instead of just leaving it as a vague thing I read on his Wiki page rip


End file.
